


Salt

by GleefulMayhem



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Pre-Slash, everyone lives though, no spoilers for you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-18
Updated: 2012-03-18
Packaged: 2017-11-02 03:04:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GleefulMayhem/pseuds/GleefulMayhem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's phone rang.  "I'm a fake."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salt

**Author's Note:**

> The first half is just Reichenbach, copy-pasta'd.   
> The second half is my own.

John’s phone rang from within his pocket.

“Hello?”

“John.”  Sherlock’s voice was on the other end. 

“Hey, Sherlock, you okay?”

“Turn around and walk back the way you came now.”

“No, I’m coming in.”

Sherlock began to fret.  “Just do as I ask.  Please.”

”Where?”  John walks a bit.

“Stop there.”

“Sherlock?”

“Okay, look up.  I’m on the rooftop.”

John looks up.  His heart stops, “Oh God.”

“I-I can’t come down, so we’ll ... we’ll just have to do it like this.”

“What’s going on?”

“An apology.  It’s all true.”

“Wh-what?”

“Everything they said about me.  I invented Moriarty.”

“Why are you saying this?”

“I’m a fake.”

“Sherlock…”

Sherlock’s voice cracks.  “The newspapers were right all along.  I want you to tell Lestrade; I want you to tell Mrs Hudson, and Molly...  In fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes.”

“Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up.  The first time we met... the first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?”

“Nobody could be that clever.”

“You could.”

Sherlock is crying now.  “I researched you.  Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you.  It’s a trick. Just a magic trick.”

John can’t look, he closes his eyes, “No. All right, stop it now.”  He begins to walk away. 

“No, stay exactly where you are. Don’t move.”

He stops.  “All right.”

Sherlock’s hand reaches towards John, too far away.  “Keep your eyes fixed on me.  Please, will you do this for me?”

“Do what?”

“This phone call – it’s, er ... it’s my note. It’s what people do, don’t they – leave a note?”

John is beginning to understand, but doesn’t want to.  “Leave a note when?”

“Goodbye, John.”

“No. Don’t.”

Sherlock drops the phone, staring off into the distance. 

“No. SHERLOCK!”

Sherlock spreads his arms and John can’t look away. 

“Sher...”

“Sherlock, Sherlock …”

“I’m a doctor, let me come through.  Let me come through, please.”  John only barely hears himself saying things. 

“No, he’s my friend. He’s my friend. Please.”

“Please, let me just …”

“Jesus, no.”

“God, no.”

 

-.-.-

 

John wakes with a quick intake of air, trying to remember how to breathe.

He's clearly shaking, so he waits a few minutes before getting out of bed. Upon standing he realises his limp is back.

John ducks into the bathroom, thankful Sherlock is too busy tormenting his violin to hear him. He washes his tear-stained face, but it's no good, the tears still flow.

He pads back to his room, cringing when the violin stops. He gets back under the covers, willing the memory away.

By the time the door opens, he is still unsuccessful. he quickly wipes away the evidence.

Sherlock stares at him, silently, unnerving John.

"Yes, Sherlock?" he croaks, hoping it sounds more rough from sleep than tears.

"You've had a nightmare," he states.

"It happens."

"This wasn't a war nightmare. You fall off the bed when you get those."

"It's nothing."

Sherlock moved closer, making John nervous. Sherlock licked John's face, tasting the salt of tears. "You've been crying. I've never seen you cry so much."

In normal circumstances, John would tell Sherlock that it’s not normal to lick your flatmate’s face.  Now is not the time, so he feels his face.  There was only wetness from Sherlock's tongue.

"You’re saltier than usual and the pillow is wet," Sherlock reminded him. "You keep fiddling your thumbs and looking away, then looking back to me. You're afraid. What happened, John?" Sherlock's voice grew suddenly soft, intimate, like they were the only ones in the world and Sherlock couldn't be bothered to shatter the silence.

"Did I let you get shot?  Surely you know I couldn't," he continued in a whisper. "No, you know that."

Sherlock looked into John's eyes, into his soul. "Did I die?" It was barely audible.

"Yes." John knew very well that Sherlock would continue until he had deduced the nightmare. New tears formed, spilling over the brim, at the memory of the twisted dream.

And Sherlock kissed each tear away, grabbing John's hand for a fleeting moment, before tearing himself away and out of the room.

John stared through the doorway as Sherlock paused on the steps, looking back.

_Maybe next time._


End file.
